


Bear Hunt

by mrstater



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Pre-Canon, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jorah and Lynesse do a little hunting—but who is the hunter and who is the prey?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bear Hunt

Lynesse awoke shivering. Instinctively, she rolled over to press her body against her husband's to share his warmth. That was the one thing that could be said for his being so hairy, she granted; he made a cozy bedfellow in the frigid climes of Bear Island.

To her dismay, she found Jorah's side of the great oaken bed unoccupied, though as she burrowed down into the imprint of his big frame which remained in the feather tick and yet retained some of his body  heat--like a bear hibernating in a den, she thought--she came a little more awake and became aware that while he had left the bed, he had not yet left the bedchamber.

For a moment she lay beneath the furs with her eyes still shut and listened to the early morning sounds she still had not entirely grown accustomed to since she wed her knight: the low grunts-almost-growls she wasn't sure he consciously made against the background noises of the rough soles of his feet scuffing over the equally rough floorboards, which creaked beneath his weight even though he did his best to step lightly and not wake her; the splash of piss in the chamber pot; the crunch as of broken glass as he punched through the layer of ice that formed over the basin and the trickle of his hands plunging  in to cup it up and rinse his face; the squeak of the trunk in the corner as he lifted the lid and the thump of it again when he the rustle of fabric when he took out his clothes.

At that she opened her eyes and poked her head out from beneath the furs just in time to admire his brawny torso, the strong muscles of his chest visible even beneath the smattering of dark hair, the lines of his less hairy trim waist etched in sharp relief above his breeches, before he pulled his quilted tunic down to conceal it. What did it matter that he had not the comeliest face when he loved her with such a powerful body? Knights wore helms, and she'd scarcely noticed Ser Jaime Lannister as he shattered nine lances against Jorah's unfaltering shield arm. 

Not noticing he was being watched, he turned away her to reach into the trunk again. She wished she could see the ripple of his back and shoulders and the taut ropelike backs of his thighs and was about to protest another layer of clothing as he raised his arms to don a leather jerkin when her brain fully awoke and remembered the talk from dinner last night about the day's activities.

"You're off on a bear hunt," she said.

"Aye. Forgive me, love, I didn't mean to wake you," Jorah said, but as he turned and saw her sitting up against the carved headboard, arms over her head as she stretched and yawned, the jerkin slipped from his hand to floor at his feet with a whisper on the rush mat and the apologetic expression slipped from his unhandsome features as his mouth curved in the smile she loved. "Though I can't say I'm not happy to be able to kiss you before I go."

"Why must you go? There's a she-bear you can hunt right here."

His smile stretched, and his eyebrows rose above his dark glittering eyes. "A she-bear?"

Lynesse felt a flush prickle hotly up her neck and into her cheeks at his look of mingled surprise and delight at this concession to his House and heritage. She had no especial liking for bears, and she was nothing like Lady Maege or Dacey or Alysane, but she was trying to live up to the title of Lady Mormont. In her own way.                                          

Which, at present, involved pushing up onto all fours and crawling down the length of the bed toward her husband. "See her on the prowl?"

"I don't know that I've ever seen a bear, she or he, prowl. They more lumber about."

Jorah's big hand curled around the bedpost, fingers gripping it hard, as evidenced by the whiteness of his knuckles against the swarthiness of his skin, and his gaze had dropped to the gaping neckline of her nightdress which slipped off one shoulder. He cleared his throat.

 "Not that I'm complaining, of course. Prowling is certainly more, ah…Well, whatever you are, I'd rather hunt you."

Smirking at how flustered she'd made him, Lynesse caught the hem of his tunic and peeled it up over his stomach, leaning in to press her mouth to the hairless patch of skin above his navel as she bared  it.

"Whatever I am," she murmured, reaching for the laces of his trousers with her free hand, "you'd best dress appropriately."

Jorah lost no time shedding his tunic. "That's the first rule of the hunt: never argue with a she-bear."

"I like that rule." Lynesse tugged his trousers down over his hips and buttocks. "Now hunt me," she said, and pulled him down with her onto the bed.

But somehow, as they kissed, it was Jorah who lay on his back and Lynesse who straddled his hips, guiding his cock into her folds as he cupped her breasts in his big hands.

"At risk of arguing," he said huskily as she sank down on to him, "I believe it's more accurate to say my lady bear has hunted me."                    

The Lady of Bear Island replied with a moan, biting her lip as she enjoyed her prey.


End file.
